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Thursday, 31 July 2014

"All women - from the most exquisite beauty to the plainest drab - want to believe in the Cinderella myth. Even the harsh-faced and sour-hearted, somewhere deep in their night-time struggles with their bitterest reality, dare to dream some Prince could still see past the dense veil of unkind nature and time, to the delicate, frail-hearted beauty within."

But Clara wasn't Cinderella, waiting for her Prince, she was Sleeping Beauty poisoned by a deadly kiss. After 24 years Clara awakens from a living nightmare of abuse and discovers her life unfolding miraculously; but the true miracle is her own blossoming: the maturing of a frightened abused girl into a strong woman capable of love, laughter and joy. In Tahiti's exotic landscape Clara finds her way from darkness to incandescent light, embracing in herself the strength of choice, and the power of decision. MANscapes is a powerful parable of hope and renewal, a story of one woman's discovery of herself and her journey into love.

"Look, men always complained their wives didn't understand them? They wanted blow jobs, or anal sex? That we could handle. All we had to do was deal with the penis, right? SO NOW OUR LIVES ARE COMPLETELY SCREWED UP! These guys are coming in whining that their wives won't give them NIPPLE JOBS! This bloody woman added a new erogenous zone to the male bod! SHE MUST BE STOPPED!"

On a personal note, this reporter was shocked to find her sound-man crouched behind the van panting and fondling his nipples. On being berated for unprofessional behaviour he replied:
"Fuck off bitch! Haven't had this much fun since my first wank!"

This reporter then complained to the Station Manager who seemed a little abstracted, constantly patting at his substantial man-tits and licking his lips.

Saturday, 26 July 2014

A dear old friend passed away last night. A boy I knew since childhood. A beautiful boy called Gus. His passing made me realise how short life is, how frail, how ephemeral and how little time we have to waste. I don't want to count pain, or anger, or complaints of life's unfairness anymore.

I want to count life.Days worth while; days filled with love, days worth remembering, days that count.Let that be the algebraic equation of our lives. Let us live now, now that we are alive. Let us live while it counts.

Friday, 25 July 2014

"Life is a blend of light and dark, but we hold in our hands - and in our hearts- the power to add colour, fire and desire to the darkest night. " Sylvine handed her the delicate cup, "All we need is will. Oh, and courage of course! Because...Why, because sometimes we are so much more comfortable in the dark, clinging to the familiarity of our old pain; we would rather wallow in despair than risking the blaze of the awakening light."

Monday, 21 July 2014

Thank God I'm
So thin this year,
So I can slip
Into those new
Donna Karan
Summer shift-dresses?
At 300 dollars a piece,
It was an absolute steal!
I got one in every shade,
(except for that yellow plaid)

What do you mean?
The Rape Of the Garment Trade?

I only buy American!
And don't we stand for
Free Trade?
For Fair Trade?
For a Fair Wage?

It's all there in the label
In the little letters
Right under
The Washing Instructions?
And I KNOW those
Are very accurate,
Beause once
I didn't follow?
And just RUINED
A Ralph Lauren
Shirt-waister
In this utterly lovely
But very fragile
Silk-linen mix...

Don't you DARE!
I AM SO NOT
A BITCH!
I do so care
About the girls
In the factory
In Bangladesh!

I saw that last night!
An absolute fright,
I was so touched
By their plight?

Tomorrow
I say goodbye
To my wife.
I will strap on
My caligula,
My helmet, my pack
Turn my back
On putrid Rome.

The Quarter-Master
Gave me a dented
Helm, with the felt
Rotted and mended
And when I complained
He politely explained:
"You Capita Cenci
Arses want to walk
In and make
Demands?
You want comfort,
Something
To fit just right?
You go
To the Subburra
Get yourself fuckedThere instead;
Here you lucky
I don't break your
bloody head!"

So I left
And here I am.
Publicani,
Pour me another!

Yes, tomorrow
I say goodbye
To my wife;
We're headed North,
North, with Varus,
Cause Augustus
He is taking
This measuring
Up to his Daddy
Real serious.

Great Caesar, now!
There was a man!
Ate with us,
Marched with us,
Fought and bled with us.
Once he even joined us
In this place in Alexandria...

Never mind that!
He was a man.
Him?
I would have followed
To any land.

These Germans, now...
They not like the Gauls,
Or the Italians,
Good warrior folks.

These blokes
Won't shame us
Under the yoke:
If we lose,
They take
Our heads off
With a single
Stroke.

So tomorrow I say
Goodbye to my wife.
I'm a bit nervous
And it's not like
I'm new to the life;
Third stint
With the Legions:
A thirty-year man.
But this time...

I don't know why.
It could be
That Varus
Isn't worth a wart
On Caesars cock;
His Senate stock
Is higher, and his
Cognomen prouder
Than his military
Roll of honour.
(though mind you
Caesar was a Patrician,
And a real one too)

But enough of that!
I still got some
Things to pack
And tomorrow
I say goodbye
To my life.

The sensually Awakened are not promiscuous. Quite the opposite: in fact, they are even more selective than the ascetics. Promiscuity is a symptom of the frustrated frantically searching for fulfilment, be it emotional or sexual; and which is always - always - just out of their reach.

The Awakened demand a richer meal: a delicate balance of love, humour and desire in their lives - and in their beds - which cannot be provided by the casual, and casually satisfied, visits of transient carnal desires.

I challenge you to a little experiment: step forward in your own flesh. Abandon the fortress you carved out for yourself in your skull. Slide along your skin. Feel how your flesh moves in the world, and how the world moves around you. Become: be awake-aware in that osmotic barrier permeable to sensations and dreams that is your skin. Press yourself forward to your lips, from the inside feel the flutter of your mouth; the slow watery stirring of your tongue. Open your eyes. Your real eyes. Inhabit your body, encase it, rather than be encased by it. Awaken. Awakened you are living NOW, completely. Not yesterday with its pains, or tomorrow, with its fears; you live NOW with a promise of dizzy revelation.

Don't be afraid to embrace yourself - your senses- in this way. The Awakened wholeness of spirit-flesh you become is so in love with life and itself it holds every moment too precious to waste. The Awakened are, by nature and necessity, chaste.

Oh sacrosanct
Laid low
Oh bitter biter-blow
The taste and smell
And touch of it
The unending
Memory-vision
Sight of it

Oh sacrosanct
Chest embraced
Close-cradled:
Why oh why?
Did I by smile
Or word or deed
Invite this spite?

Oh sacrosanct
Do they
(will they) know?
Does it show?
(oh that final
hideous sound
that grunting moan)

Will they know?
Will they all know?
(I screamed
for mercy
under that blow)

"Get up
Get up
Get up
Get out of bed;
Do what women
Do instead:
Raise high
Your head.
Did you think
Yourself sacrosanct
Precious alloy?
Your flesh sacred
Exempt?"

"Get out of bed.
Do what women
Do instead.
Straighten that spine!
Will you repine?
Cradle the sick-pup
Of your male pride?
The only sacrosanct part,
What they cannot
Reach with a prick
Or tear apart
Is your heart"

"So get out of bed;
Do what women
Do instead,
Go home to your wife,
Get on with your life."

"GUILTY PLEASURES - The Food and Fornication Fables"

The very first page of Guilty Pleasures saw me laughing out loud. By the last page I was close to tears. In between was a beautiful, engaging, colourful, delicious, funny, enthralling, gut-wrenching, erotic and heart-warming ride. The characters were multi-dimensional, the plot unique, and the storytelling an absolute delight. Thank you Manuela Cardiga for this fabulous story!

***

Elana Sabharwal

Author of "The Delhi Deception"

Debut author, Manuela Cardiga, arouses all senses in her stunning novel of epicurean and sexual pleasures. Guilty Pleasures is hilarious, entertaining and erotic. Cardiga has an uncanny understanding of our deep rooted emotions and relationship with all thing pleasureful, but guilt inducing. Her main protagonists are wonderfully flawed, yet at heart, both as courageous and romantic as long forgotten princesses and knights in shining armor. Beautifully written, in at times Victorian-like prose, Guilty Pleasures is a must read and will surely satisfy most readers' hedonistic side.

***

Janet Grace Riehl
Poet and Author of "Sightlines: A Poet's Diary"

Cardiga's writing is rollicking and elegant--a rare combination. Her wry humour, careful observations, imagination, and erotic evocations redefine and expand our understanding of sensuality--found anywhere we are open to it.At heart "Guilty Pleasures" explores a time-honoured theme: If love opens us--spilling out both our beauties and secrets--can we embrace our fragility and that of the person we love? "Guilty Pleasures" graces us with literary layering. We see Lance Packard's book "Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate" become a sensitive manual on how to fully love a woman and make her happy. I'll definitely be handing that to my next lover! Cardiga has given us a world that's a joy for readers to belong to, and inspiration to take back to our real life worlds when we close the cover.

Môre, Meneer,
Liefste Mevrou:
I'm a good honest girl,
And a clean living "vrou"
I ain't got nothing
Interesting in my bed,
As a matter of fact
My "suikerbos"
Is dead...

I don't "vreet wors"
I don't "praat" flirty
And I'd never ever
Do nothing dirty;
But see, "die volk"
Must procreate,
So even though
I really hate
This whole
Sex thing?
I close my eyes
Breathe real deep
And scream:
"For Sarie Marais,
Van Riebeck and all
Come on Koos!
Lets have a ball!"

"Steady on those heels!"
The Sargent screams
"TITS OUT!
Stomach in!
Wiggle those hips
Show me some skin!"

"This here is
REAL LIFE
Not one of
Your stupid
Little girl dreams!
So you bitches
Thought an IQ
Was enough?
Forget it girls,
This world is
TOUGH!"

"You Grandmother
Picketed Capitol Hill
Burned her bra
And screamed for the Pill?
Read a "Woman's Room"
"The Female Eunuch"
And that made her cool?"

"Well gals, let me
Tell you-all the truth!
The New Rule
Is the same
As the OLD RULE!
You want to get ahead?
You gotta make men drool!"

"It's not enough that
You can out-think, out-work
Or out-drink the stupid dicks,
You got to entertain...
And I don't mean
With your brain."

"You gotta tint
Those nipples
And pout those lips!
And on that note...
Dismiss!"

"Go shave your legs
And don't even think
To miss ONE SPOT
I don't take slop
In my Company!
You-all be back
At OH-eight hundred,
Captain Divine
Will give us some tips
On how to use
Those lips
To get a-head.
YES! Number One
That was a pun!
I'm still a woman,
Sensitive and fun!
So get on the phone
And practice
A husky tone...
Its time to enrol
In the Erotic Capital

Thursday, 10 July 2014

You can imagine
My surprise
When my shrink
Just plain refused
To analyze
My new craving.

The man went raving

Mad- proverbially

Mad as a hatter!
Can you believe that?
And threw down
His notebook and pen
With a clatter,
Tore out his hair
And screamed:
“It does not matter
To me one jot
If a polka dot
Is a spot or a blot!”

Let me tell you
I was so shocked!
“Get out”
He screamed
“Out! For I swear,
You stupid bitch,
My trigger finger’s
Developed an itch
And I just can’t decide
If I blow you away,
Or beat you
Within an inch
Of your stupid
Futile life!”

I was a little miffed,
So I left, taking
With me all
My swatches
Of spots and dots,
And blotches?
Really,
I’m rather saddened.

My passion
For the beauty
Of patterned
Fabrics and
Decorating life
Is so ill-received
By a man trained
To perceive
The deeper truths of
The human psyche?

It is really very,
VERY sad.
Next week,
I will try gingham.
Surely he can’t
Find fault
With that?

Cause see,
When we talk
About Piggy-Heaven?
What the old folk
Never spoke
About was…

Well, Piggy Orgasm, see?
And we not talking about
SHORTCOMINGS here,
But about thirty
Bloody minutes
Of wedded bliss!

If you somehow miss
The point?
PIGS DON’T SUFFER
FROM PREMATURE
EJACULATION!

And to add to it all,
Lady Pigs, here-forth
Referred to as SOWS,
Who, quite unlike
The poor cows
Or female humans
Engage in an anatomical
Wonder known as
The UP-SUCK
When stimulated so
Ably to ecstasy
By the Piggy-Poke
(not to be confused
With a human reaction
Known as

The UP-CHUCK
When inadequately served
By an under-par stroke,
Oh hell!
Let’s not be so coy,
A pretty bad fuck!

I tear up the old map and take another road.
I will set my feet on a shadowed lane
Perfumed by sweet verveine,
I kick off my shoes- I will feel
Barefoot my way on the tender green
And cut soles will bring me no greater pain
Than to the Mermaid who loved in vain:
Poor fool, who gave up her voice
And traded in her free life and choice
In the glassy wilds of the endless sea
For bloodied footsteps;
Such a thing is not for me.

I will walk and perhaps at the end of this very day
I will pause at some cross-roads
And let down my hair.
I will hold wide my arms to summon
And become a weather-vane
Follow my tumbled wind-tugged mane
Down another way
And there… who knows?
Perhaps, someday; a welcome-home,
Someone to lay claim to heart and soul.

Today we start again, free of past and stain:
Nothing, and no pain, is foreordained.

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

OK GUYS!!! GET READY!!!

'Cause have I got WRITER'S BLOCK for you!!!
(NO! I don't have Writer's Block! I resent that relieved sigh!)

I GOT A NEW BOOK...

"WRITER'S BLOCK - Licking It and Loving It"

"WRITER'S BLOCK - Licking It and Loving It" is about...
Well, Writer's Block.And being a writer. And loving writing, and words, and "w"s and all sorts of good and bad advice on writing and living. It's about beating the Bitch, winning and loving it.
And loving it even when you lose, writing, that is.

"WRITER'S BLOCK - Licking It and Loving It" is a wry tongue-in-cheek take on Writer's Block: sometimes humorous, sometimes lyrical; always passionate about storytelling and storytellers.

"WRITER'S BLOCK - Licking It and Loving It" is dedicated to all of us out there living a desperate unrequited love with that fickle Lover, the written word.

Sunday, 6 July 2014

I know it sounds
So gruesome,
But I kept that body
On my bed
For a long
Long time.

It was a natural death,
And not a homicide,
So I figured
It was alright,
And no one
Would mind?

I kept it clean,
Kept it fed,
Made sure
It had breath?
Sort of a
Heimlich Manouver
To double time,
The Moonlight Sonata
For me worked just fine,
Kept me in rhythm?

So hands up...
In came the air
Hands down,
Push-push
A groan like despair..
(See, the air oozes out
And makes
This odd sound?)

So this one night
Joe stops by
Stood by my door
Looked kinda shy:
"Want some ice-cream?"
I looked up at him,
Then down at the bed,
At my hands curved
To that rib-cage
And I shook my head.
"I can't, I just can't!"

He nodded sadly
And smiled,
So I looked down again
At the thing on my bed,
(It was so dessicated
The torn heart
No longer bled red)
And so I got up
And took Joe's hand
Instead.

Friday, 4 July 2014

Praise for Guilty Pleasures

Elise de Sallier

Best-seling romantic Author of "Innocence" and "Protection"

The very first page of Guilty Pleasures saw me laughing out loud. By the last page I was close to tears. In between was a beautiful, engaging, colourful, delicious, funny, enthralling, gut-wrenching, erotic and heart-warming ride. The characters were multi-dimensional, the plot unique, and the storytelling an absolute delight. Thank you Manuela Cardiga for this fabulous story!

***

Elana Sabharwal

Author of "The Delhi Deception"

Debut author, Manuela Cardiga, arouses all senses in her stunning novel of epicurean and sexual pleasures. Guilty Pleasures is hilarious, entertaining and erotic. Cardiga has an uncanny understanding of our deep rooted emotions and relationship with all thing pleasureful, but guilt inducing. Her main protagonists are wonderfully flawed, yet at heart, both as courageous and romantic as long forgotten princesses and knights in shining armor. Beautifully written, in at times Victorian-like prose, Guilty Pleasures is a must read and will surely satisfy most readers' hedonistic side.

***

Janet Grace Riehl Poet and Author of "Sightlines: A Poet's Diary"

Cardiga's writing is rollicking and elegant--a rare combination. Her wry humour, careful observations, imagination, and erotic evocations redefine and expand our understanding of sensuality--found anywhere we are open to it.At heart "Guilty Pleasures" explores a time-honoured theme: If love opens us--spilling out both our beauties and secrets--can we embrace our fragility and that of the person we love? "Guilty Pleasures" graces us with literary layering. We see Lance Packard's book "Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate" become a sensitive manual on how to fully love a woman and make her happy. I'll definitely be handing that to my next lover! Cardiga has given us a world that's a joy for readers to belong to, and inspiration to take back to our real life worlds when we close the cover.

Wednesday, 2 July 2014

"The day I was born luck smiled on me. A sardonic smile, but a smile none the less. I was lucky, I still am.Considering my history and the story I will now be telling you, child, you will think my idea of being “lucky” peculiar.

I was born on a ship: a dank and rusty tramp-steamer plying the East Coast of Africa, hitting every forgotten rat-ridden port.The day I was born, the River Moreno, under the flag of Panama, was docked in Mogadishu. The charming gentlemen of the crew were entertaining.

I rather imagine my Mother waddled in, slick fleshed and glossy, to general delight; the crew being rather partial to generous female flesh, probably as a welcome change from each other’s sinewy and hairy buttocks. I’m quite sure she was hotly contested. So much so, that she was the resident guest for several days, until suddenly and inexplicably, she vanished, taking with her several treasured belongings of her most ardent admirers. We cannot, however, accuse her of theft. What she took, she took in trade.

She bartered in flesh, so it surely must have seemed logical to her. She bartered me. My squirming new-born flesh was deposited in the onion basket. I see now how my fate was determined: my very first seller was my Mother. I must believe some tender feelings of motherly concern intervened, for she left me in what was the most welcoming place in the River Moreno: the galley, redolent with delicious smells, a paradise of cleanliness and plenty. When her time came, she must have made her way down to that galley, squatted down and grunted me out in a business-like fashion. She tied off my umbilical cord and carefully cleaned up all traces of her labour, in fact all traces of her part in my life’s history end here.

So it was that Anatoly Servinski, coming into the galley to make the morning’s bread, found me: a scrap of dark squealing humanity, glistening and naked, waving fiercely clenched fists at the world, and that, dear child, was all the luck I’ve ever needed, all of my life.

I believe my pugnacious character, that was to be such an asset in the future, was evident from day one. I screamed with demented rage, punched and kicked at the soft cotton swaddled around me, tears jetted from my eyes, my tiny body thrumming with fury.

My Father mixed powdered milk from the stores with boiled water, and soaking a cloth in the tepid liquid, carefully dribbled some into my yowling mouth. Apparently the silence was immediate, although I continued to valiantly wrestle with the sheet wrapped around me, and struggled to focus my new-born eyes on his face. With fierce strength, so he told me, I managed to grasp the index finger of the hand holding the milk-soaked cloth.

That was the moment, according to my Father, that his fate was sealed. He transmuted half a century of pent-up loneliness and homesickness into love. For me: a squealing bundle of bad temper and misshapen flesh, and that love was to be my talisman."

"I've never read anything quite like this, it was a cross between a sex manual, a sensual cookery book, a history book and a romance!

Each chapter starts off with a snippet from 'Sensual Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate', Lance's book that he is writing, he's a sex therapist, some of them are absolutely hilarious.

Lance takes on the persona of Will reluctantly, his job is to get Milly pregnant, he hadn't bargained for falling in love with her. He become a kitchen assistant to a black, Russian dwarf called Serge who has an unbelievable history, including being a sex worker. He's a rogue, he's gay, he's absolutely loveable, and he's survived some truly awful experiences, and he'd kill anyone who hurt his beloved Milly who he this of as a daughter.

Guilty Pleasures is a private dining club that encourages extravagance and excellent food, from a wake to celebrate a divorce to a full Dickensian evening, the events unfolding leave you laughing out loud and very untrusting of cello players! The menus created in the book are downright gluttony at times, and this is where the cookbook element comes in, every time the menu is discussed there's a real passion for food shown. Some of the dishes described make your mouth water, but often the evening descends into drunken debauchery.

This book is a lovely journey through one couples reluctant romance, both terribly hurt in the past, trying to take things slowly but with an insatiable appetite for each other.

As with secrets they have a habit of being found out, people get hurt, and lives are upset.

This is a hugely entertaining story, with endearing and fascinating characters that was a real pleasure to read."

Always remember to take charge of the encounter from the very beginning.If you cringe and snivel and act the slave, you will be the slave.Be the Master, and your chances of surviving unharmed will be that much higher.